


A River of Stepping Stones

by Kienova



Series: Roads and Pathways [2]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first step occurred on a road in the middle of nowhere. The second step occurred on the drive back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A River of Stepping Stones

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, don't own things, blah blah blah. 
> 
> Have some fluff.

The drive back to Poplar is spent in periods of contented silence and soft conversation, Timothy having fallen asleep a few minutes into the ride. He still can’t believe they’re here, that she’s his.

“Are you warm enough?” Patrick questions, glancing over at Shelagh, who gives him a soft pleased smile in reply. She looks so _right_ next to him, curled up on the seat, still dwarfed by his coat. The parts of her hair that had escaped the hairpins during the downpour are curling in tendrils around her face, bringing out the blue in her eyes as the sun finally starts breaking through the clouds and fog, streaming into the car and turning the strands into spun gold.

“I’m all right; you’re the one that’s soaked to the skin,” she says, timidly reaching across the car to brush his damp hair off his forehead. He catches her fingers as she goes to retract her arm, turning their hands palm to palm and lacing their fingers together, keeping them on his thigh as he drives, his mind divided between the road and the feeling of her soft skin against his. “Patrick,” she starts, seeming insecure of herself in that moment.

“I love how you say my name,” he blurts, feeling himself flush slightly at the admission. _‘You’re a grown man Turner, and yet you sound like an infantile teenager,’_ he mentally scolds himself. Out of the corner of his eye he notices the smile that plays about Shelagh’s lips and suddenly his own embarrassment is forgotten.

“Is... is it wrong how comfortable this already feels?” she manages after a beat, looking at him from beneath her lashes. He has to fight the urge to pull over just so he can kiss her again at the query. He knows he should be prepared for her to be unsure of things, but his elation keeps overriding the reality that she is completely new to most of this – if not all of it. He wonders if she had ever been courted before entering the convent. Had she ever been to a dance? Been taken out on a walk at sunset? Been kissed before this afternoon?

“It isn’t wrong at all,” he assures her, squeezing her fingers. “Our feelings being out in the open may be new, but you and I are not true strangers. I’ve known you since you came to Nonnatus all those years ago when Timothy was just a baby,” he reminds her gently. “You were such a tiny young thing,” he chuckles.

“I was twenty,” she mutters, ducking her head.

“You were beautiful. You _are_ beautiful. Forgive me, but all I could think of back then was how could such a gorgeous young woman choose the life you did.” He feels like he might be saying too much all of a sudden, that he could be overstepping so many boundaries with his admission, or be offending her at his comments, but he cannot stop himself, needing her to know he’s always been in awe of her. “And then I saw you deliver a baby. The Donovan’s daughter, Petunia, in the middle of that horrible blizzard back in forty-eight. I was enraptured by your calm and devotion; not to mention our skill. You didn’t need me at all in that delivery.”

“I always need you Patrick,” she whispered. He can’t help himself then, carefully jerking the car to the shoulder and throwing it into park before pulling her into a kiss. He feels her smile against his lips, sighing into his mouth as he moves gently against her, their hands still tangled on his lap. He can feel the slight hesitation regardless, her insecurity still lying just beneath her skin, but not prevalent enough to stop her. When they break apart she presses her forehead to his chest, breathing in the smell of him. “We’ll never get back to Poplar at this rate,” she admonishes with a shaky laugh which he reciprocates instantly, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. I spent so long wishing that I could hold your hand, that I could kiss you. Knowing that I can... I’m sorry Shelagh, I know I’m taking liberties, but I just can’t pass up any opportunity to show you how much I love you.”

“The faster we get back to Poplar, the faster I can be released of my vows,” she whispers in his ear, giggling when she notices how his jaw drops as she sits back against the leather of her seat, tucking some of her wild hair behind her ear.

“My goodness, what else have you been hiding from me,” he grins, putting the car back into drive and pulling back out into the road, checking the rear-view mirror to find Timothy still asleep. Shelagh just laughs in response.

XxX

They dropped Timothy off at Jack’s before heading back to the Turner household, Patrick letting Shelagh in and directing her to the lavatory so that she could tidy herself up before going to face Sister Julienne. She wanted to get the meeting over as soon as possible, but she was resistant as well, not wanting to enter into Nonnatus House with her hair a mess from their encounter with the rain.

Once she manages to tame her hair and restore order to the clothes that had become slightly askew she moves back into the parlour, finding Patrick sitting on the sofa, a soft look on his face as he regards her.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, standing up and moving to her side.

“No,” she confesses, looking down at her feet. “But it is something I need to do.” He places his hand on her arm, squeezing softly before leading her to the door and back to the car. He had changed his clothes while she was fixing her hair, glad to be out of the wet fabric as they drove the short distance to Nonnatus.

“Would you like me to come in with you?” he inquires when they’re sitting in front of the building.

“No, I should like to do this myself but... but if you could maybe wait for me here?” she inquires, voice soft. He can sense the insecurity in her, the shyness, and the worry of asking for too much. He wants to grab her, to tell her that she can never ask too much of him, but reigns himself in, reminding himself that she doesn’t know this yet, isn’t used to asking for help, let alone asking a man for his attention and patience.

“Of course my love,” he replies instead, cupping her cheek for a moment before she slips out of the car, climbing the stone steps with practiced ease before she disappears into the building. He lasts all of five minutes in the car before he has to get out, pacing the damp pavement as he lights a cigarette, smoking as he waits impatiently for her to return.

How can it be that they have only really admitted their love for one another and spoken of their devotion for a few hours? It feels like a lifetime and no time at all. He can still the image of her from her first night in Poplar, down on her knees and instructing Mrs. Donovan through her labour, the breech baby proving to be something the young Sister was more than capable of handling on her own. She had beamed at him when he praised her technique before blushing and looking back down at the task she was absorbed in, seeming to think that her reaction could be considered a form of vanity. They’d come so far in the last ten years. He’d been through the death of his wife and the grief that accompanied it. The pain of watching his son become withdrawn and despondent as a result. The fear of discovering Shelagh’s tuberculosis and the long months of loneliness that followed, not knowing if she was doing well, if she was getting better; if she was thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her. But now here they were – her renouncing her vows while he paced like an idiot around the car, smoking like a chimney in an attempt to calm his nerves.

The creaking of the door startles him out of his reverie, his eyes snapping up to where Shelagh was coming down the steps, her own gaze focused on the ground. He could read the emotions off her with little to no effort. Even though he knew she was resolute in her decision, that she loved him, he still knew that this would be a painful endeavour for her. As she got to the bottom of the steps he could see the tear tracks on her face, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she struggled to control her emotions. He doesn’t bother to ask how it went, knowing that she would say ‘as well as can be expected.’ Instead, he remains in his place, leaning against the car as she moves towards him.

“Come here my darling,” he says, voice quiet, suddenly glad that the lingering damp from the rain has kept the neighbourhood children from playing around the convent today. She folds herself easily into his chest, burying her face into the fabric of his shirt, trying to hide herself from the world as his arms wrap around her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, knowing that her tears are soaking into his chest, the frames of her glasses digging into his clavicle. He shushes her in response, dropping a kiss to her hair, not really caring who might see them. “I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t realise how much I would feel like I’ve betrayed Sister Julienne. She’s been like a mother to me.” The confession makes his heart seize in his chest, breaking for her at the quiet statement.

“You haven’t betrayed Sister Julienne – she would never feel that way. She cares for you. They all do,” he assures her, stroking her back and pulling her more tightly to him, offhandedly noting the lack of her religious ring on her hand. He desperately wants to replace the simple band that used to reside there with another ring, one that he has had picked out and hidden in his night table since the day of her formal diagnosis. He had bought it on a whim, needing to feel like there was something to hope for. A future. One where she wasn’t a nun. One where she was with him. Loved him as much as he loves her.

He struggles to believe that future is now, so many possibilities running through his head as he inhales the gentle smell of her shampoo, laced with a delicate hint of perfume still, despite how the rain had soaked them. He wonders where she got it from. Did she own it? Had she borrowed it from one of the other residents at the sanatorium? Or had she pilfered it in a fit of childish desire? “I wish I could make this easier for you,” he muses, not knowing how she would react were he to tell her of the ring in his drawer. He would give it to her this second if she asked.

“You... you holding me makes it better. It makes me remember that the reason I left was because I love something more than what I was doing here. Or rather, someone,” she says, sighing gently, the tears slowing. He struggles against the urge to pull her away from his chest so he can kiss her properly, only managing to stop himself at the sight of Sister Evangelina riding up. She does a double take of the scene before turning her attention back to storing her bike.

“It’s about time you two got yourselves sorted,” she comments, making Shelagh jump, her eyes wild as she turns towards the other woman, still caught in Patrick’s arms.

“Sister Evangelina! I’m so sorry, I didn’t –” Shelagh starts, snapping her jaw shut when Sister Evangelina raises her hand to silence the apologies.

“Just because I occasionally take my vow of silence seriously does not mean that I’m blind Shelagh. I’m happy for you. You take good care of her Doctor Turner, she’s very dear to all of us,” Sister Evangelina says, her expression softer than Patrick ever recalls seeing it when there isn’t a newborn involved.

“I will Sister,” he promises. Sister Evangelina gives a nod, heading up the steps to the doors of Nonnatus House without further comment. Shelagh laughs softly after a few seconds of silence.

“I never thought... of all the Sisters...” she mutters, giggles taking over her petite form until she is shaking against Patrick. He can’t help himself then, spinning her around and placing a quick kiss on her lips.

“Come on, let’s go find something for tea,” he grins, nudging her into the car.

XxX

He had shooed her into the parlour when he got up to clean up after supper, having chosen to grab fish and chips to save her from his cooking. She had laughed at his insecurity, squeezing his hand in reassurance before following him into the shop. They brought the food back to his flat, sitting across from one another at the table and speaking quietly, Timothy having elected to stay at Jack’s for the night.

Now he can’t help but smile, finding her curled on the sofa, struggling to keep her eyes open. He’s about to ask her a question, ask her where she’s staying the night, when the phone rings, startling them both. Shelagh leaps off the couch, eyes blurry, as Patrick crosses the floor, grabbing the phone. He listens intently, noticing how Shelagh suddenly seems nervous, looking around the flat with trepidation in her gaze. At his sharp intake of breath, however, her eyes find his, her head cocking to one side in a silent question. He concludes his conversation, placing the receiver back down before looking at her.

“That was Sister Evangelina. They’ve taken Chummy to hospital. She’s haemorrhaged. They don’t know what’s going to happen to her. I’m sorry Shelagh,” he explains, noticing the look of concern that crosses her face.

“Oh,” she breathes in reply, dropping back down onto the sofa, the fight seeming to have gone out of her in an instant. “I should... I,” she mumbles.

“You should go to bed, you’re exhausted,” he interjects, catching her cheek in his hand and gently making her look up at him. At her lack of response and the shifting of her gaze he realises that she doesn’t know where she’s sleeping tonight. That she had acted purely on impulse and her desire to be with him all day, that she hasn’t prepared for anything beyond confessing her feelings to him and removing herself from her vows.

“Of course. I’ll just...” He can’t stand seeing her she shy and insecure, having turned her head so that he was no longer cupping her chin.

“Let me fetch you something to wear and I’ll get the bedroom set up for you. I’ll stay in Tim’s room for the night,” he says, already heading for the stairs.

“Patrick?” she queries, confusion written all over her face.

“I know that all of this is new, that someone could view this is... improper... but I don’t want you under any other roof tonight. I want you here. I need to know you’re here, with me, so that when I wake up tomorrow I don’t have to think it was all a dream, that you’re still sick, or that I’m still here, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much I love you.” The words escape him before he can control them. He had just wanted to reassure her, to make her think that he had always intended for her to stay the night so that she didn’t feel like a burden to him, instead he had done that while revealing more about his mind than he planned to. He couldn’t help but tell her the truth – of his fears of finding he had dreamt the entire thing, or his worry about her being sick still. The grim news from Nonnatus has just made his fears all the worse.

“I love you too,” she says, getting up to come stand next to him, taking his larger hand in both of hers and kissing his knuckles. He smiles, loving how she looks in the soft glow of the lamps. “But... with everything that has happened, I don’t know if I could sleep in your bed,” she mutters.

“Shelagh –”

“Not without you there with me,” she elaborates, her cheeks flaming red by the end of it. “I don’t... I don’t mean in _that_ way I just... I don’t want to be alone right now. I have had enough time being alone these last few months, and with everything happening... I just need to know someone is there.” His heart breaks again for her and he can’t help but lean in and kiss her, loving how tiny she feels against him.

“I’ll get you some night clothes,” he smiles when they break apart, heading upstairs and rummaging through his closet until he finds something suitable for her as well as his own pyjamas. He turns to head back down and give her the item when he finds her in the doorway, watching him. It strikes him how at home she already looks and he has to tamp down the urge to cross the room and get the ring, to drop to one knee and ask for her to marry him.

“Thank you,” she says when he passes the clothes to her, watching as she ducks into the lavatory to change while he frantically sheds his own clothes in the bedroom, replacing them with the cotton fabric. He wonders what side of the bed she sleeps on. What position she likes to sleep in. If she’ll steal the blankets, or snore, or shove cold feet against his back in the middle of the night. His pyjama top dwarfs her as she comes back into the room, timidly climbing onto the side of the bed closer to the window. She looks so young, so nervous, her fingers tugging at the hems of the sleeves of the top, as he excuses himself to the bathroom, returning only a few minutes later to find her beneath the covers.

“Are you sure you’re all right with this?” He has to ask, even though he doesn’t want her to change her mind. If she told him to leave now he would respect her choice, even if he didn’t like it.

“Yes,” she replies. She’s taken her glasses off, placing them on the night table, eyes already falling shut. Her hair had been released from the hairpins and was curling around her face on the pillow, glowing golden in the light from the lamp. “Come to bed.”

He doesn’t delay any further, climbing onto the vacant half of the mattress and lying down, switching off the light before turning so he can watch her. She’s squinting slightly at him in the darkness, but whether it is because of the lack of light or her eyesight, he’s not sure. She gives him a tired smile, closing her eyes.

“My goldfish would be named after you,” she comments randomly, a small laugh breaking out of her.

“I’m sorry?” Patrick inquires, having no idea where the comment had come from.

“The nurses. They wanted to name goldfish from the fair after their first kisses. Mine would be called Patrick,” Shelagh explains. Part of him had thought he was her first kiss, but to have it confirmed elated him more than he wanted to admit.

“I’m happy to be the namesake for your potential fish,” he replies, loving how she sighs, giggling into the darkness, the exhaustion present even in her laughter.  

“Tell me everything is going to be all right,” she requests after a pause, voice low in the darkness. He reaches out, taking her hand in his and tangling their fingers together, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.

“Everything will be all right Shelagh,” he assures her, falling in love with her all over again at her soft sigh as she cuddles deeper into the pillow, her breathing evening out but her grip on his hand remaining. “Everything will be just fine.”    

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a note if you have any questions, comments, or requests. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


End file.
